


tommyinnit was alone (until he was found)

by dullrockets



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I made this in like two hours, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), They/Them Pronouns for Toby Smith | Tubbo, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit-centric, so im sorry for all the mistakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27615317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dullrockets/pseuds/dullrockets
Summary: tommy has had a rough time over the course of the dream smp(oneshot)
Relationships: TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF) & Everyone, no - Relationship
Comments: 31
Kudos: 258





	tommyinnit was alone (until he was found)

**Author's Note:**

> hello this is my first fic for this fandom (and my first time posting on ao3)  
> tw for descriptions of death (not really graphic), wilbur was neglecting him, and i think theres a bit of hallucinating if you squint at the beginning. im pretty sure thats it but if you see anything else please let me know  
> -also, this is an au! not one im planning to continue, just a little thing for this oneshot where everyone dies.  
> -lower case intentional

tommy was used to being alone. 

he felt it in the first big war, where eret was looking away and dream was laughing like the maniac he was. _he would scream, but his voice was raw and hoarse. he hated it, it sounded so weak, so pathetic. eret betrayed them, and he was standing there in front of him, making no move to his sword. guilt filling his face, though tommy knew it was just an act. no, unlike his traitor ex-friend, he would stand by, on his side, no matter the consequences. no matter who died, or who left him, he promised to himself, he would always fight for l’manberg._

he felt it at election, when schlatt had screamed and laughed and hurt him and his brother. _he cursed as his stomach began to growl, stuffing more bread into his mouth, trying to stay quiet. the unforgiving sound of metal filled the air, and he ran. he ran, and he didn’t stop until he could feel his legs give out. even then, he still tried to run, because that was safe, wasn’t it? but no one was there, and he couldn’t see, and he was so cold. he wanted wilbur, wilbur was warm. but wilbur- was he dead? he didn’t know. all he knew was he had to keep running. running from his home. l’manberg._

he felt it at the ravine, in the tiny, damp ravine, when everything stung and the cold bit at his fingers. _the thick blanket that covered him and his shivers did little to help the winter’s weather. the wool was scratchy, and with no one to huddle with for warmth, it was good as nothing. he curled in on himself, desperate at this point. by the time wilbur finally walked in from the stupid fireplace that he wasn’t allowed to sleep near (but wilbur was. it was unfair), most likely to check in on him, he was violently trembling. nobody mentioned that wilbur didn’t carry him to the campfire. nobody noticed. he was alone, shivering, and nobody cared to look._

he felt it at the festival, where blue, white, and blood red clouded his mind, along with the screams. _he cried out, screaming for technoblade not to do it. in preparation, he took out an enderpearl. he hoped he wouldn’t have to use it, he really did. but, tommy, as always, was unlucky, ending up wasting it to fly to the stage in a sorry attempt to save his friend. he was too late. he could still hear the dreadful booms of fireworks, mini-explosions that did no real damage; he could only hope that they weren’t real, dynamite hidden under l’manberg secretly lighting up. he supposed he was lucky wilbur never found the button._

he felt it at the war, the season finale of the second chapter in his stupid, violence-filled life. _he clutched onto tubbo as if they were his lifeline, mumbling ‘no,’s over and over until nobody could bear to look at him anymore. he thought tubbo was still alive; he had laid his head down on their chest to feel the heartbeat. but it could easily be a facade, his mind tricking him into thinking there were still things worth living for. if he heard screaming, or withers, or even more explosions that he couldn’t stop, he didn’t acknowledge it._

_he thought he felt a hand on his shoulder, but that couldn’t be.  
technoblade had killed- or maybe he didn’t, tommy wasn’t sure- everyone he cared about. maybe even himself. had he killed wilbur? if wilbur was alive, he doubted he was healthy. he didn’t know why he was supposed to care about them; weren’t they the traitors?_

he felt it right after. _he hummed along to his disc, looking over the cliff to only see the aftermath of an explosion. if he had seen this only a year ago, he wouldn’t’ve believed anything. but, alas, here he was, staring into the place everyone he loved had died. he was pretty sure wilbur was dead. he was pretty sure technoblade was dead- fireworks were a dangerous substance, and techno sure did make mistakes. and he knew tubbo’s heart had to have stopped beating long ago._

_he wishes niki, fundy, and eret (was his dad there? he could’ve sworn he saw a green and white bucket hat-) weren’t caught in the crossfire. he saw their hazy stares, the last of their life being wasted with the sounds of screaming, and metal, and explosions. he felt sorry for them. sorry that the last moments of their sad lives were in pain, the last seconds of drifting off overwhelmed by war._

he felt it as he watched the bodies pile up. _he was still staring, letting tears flow endlessly down his cheeks, yet sure to keep the sounds quiet. he enjoyed the quiet. he could be loud, yes, but tommy still saw the peace in silence. he had since then (or had he, he really couldn’t tell) strode over to his base, picking up some stones that were, surprise, left on the ground after dream (that bastard) had to explode his house with everything. he walked for what felt hours back to the land he once called home, making a rather large, recognizable cross. and he made another, and another, and another, and there were far too many to count. he didn’t want to look for bodies, especially not ones that were bloodied and bruised and hurt so badly, so he opted to just nail some signs in._

_on one, he, in the best handwriting he could muster, wrote, “tubbo- my greatest friend and my eternal president, you will be missed,” on the next, “wilbur- my brother, a little mad but still my friend, you will be missed,” walking with a slouch he always knew had made him feel so small in this big world that he was in, all alone, “technoblade- a fighter, a warrior, and most importantly, my brother. you had a good run, big man, you will be missed,” he frowned at the one last gravestone he prepared, before sighing, “niki, eret, and fundy. you were kind, regretful, and helping. you helped ~~us~~ me survive. i thank you, and you will be missed,”_

he felt it on his last day here. _as he stared across his carrot farm, waving at each and every bee (they were like tubbo’s bees, he reminded himself, in memory of him); slurping a potion of swiftness that he knew would do nothing (that’s all it started it out with, after all, wilbur and tommy with a hot dog van); trying on the sets of netherite armor he’d taken so long to gather with a smile (techno had so much netherite, he was always surprising); sparing a glance at a pair of elytra wings he’d worked his ass off to get (only to look back a second later with eyes full of tears)._

_taking a small bite out of a piece of bread that was stale and hard (niki was always a good baker); petting his fox (now that sapnap was gone, he was free to do as he pleased. he named this one fundy); taking the porcelain mask off his head for the first time in weeks (dream would’ve been proud, he looked fucking good in that); a pair of trousers that were dirty and bloody but once belonged to a man with no pants (his friend with no pants); and finally, for the rest of the smp members he didn’t have the time to get things for, was a simple sign. simple, but meaningful. ‘one day, this will all end, whether you like it or not.’ he guessed it was his end today._

_and as the sword finally met his throat, he smiled, even chuckled. he was going to get to see his family. he may have just died (how did he see his own body so clearly?), but it was all worth for the hugs and laughs and cries he saw and felt and experienced in reality. he heard a few ‘i was so worried, god tommy-’s and ‘you really survived a while!’s and maybe one ‘wow, you stole my trousers’ that he snickered at. as soon as he felt able to, he opened his eyes to a replica of that mask he saw all those years ago staring back at him, “you did good. i’m proud.”_

and for the first time in a very long time (weeks, months, years? he never had time to check), he felt found.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed
> 
> comments and kudos make me happy if you want  
> constructive criticism always open and encouraged  
> have a lovely day/night/evening/morning! :)


End file.
